


Whatever It Takes

by sleepdeprivedwriter



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton is George Washington's Biological Son, But also, Canon Era, Epistolary, Father-Son Relationship, Flashbacks, Historical Accuracy, Historical Inaccuracy, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parenthood, Slow Burn, Time Skips, because i'm a nerd and did a shit-ton of research for this lmao, i just love washingdad ok, not entirely epistolary but there will be letters as interludes, not sure at what point in alex's life i'll end this fic but it'll almost definitely be a series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:27:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25770577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepdeprivedwriter/pseuds/sleepdeprivedwriter
Summary: "I know your heart, my dear, and I know you as a man of great character; one who would go to any lengths required for his family. It is with this knowledge that I tell you that in January of 1757, I bore a son. The arithmetic - as I’m sure you’re working out as you read this - provides the answer. He is the product of our love. Our Alexander."George Washington thought he was incapable of having children. He is proven incorrect when a letter from an old flame informs him that he has a soon-to-be orphaned son on an island he once knew very well. Suddenly, George was travelling thousands of miles across the ocean to bring home a boy he'd never met with an unmatchable intellect, a frightening ambition, and a tendency for self-destruction.George had never been so pleased to be wrong.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & George Washington, George Washington/Martha Washington, Rachel Faucette Buck/George Washington
Comments: 34
Kudos: 153





	1. From Rachel Faucette Buck to Col. George Washington [11th January, 1768]

**Author's Note:**

> new fic, who dis?
> 
> i've tried to plot it out but i'm not sure how long this will story be or how far into alexander's life it'll go. tbh i have a vague idea of how things will go in my head, but i really don't know. i'm imagining this will be quite long tho. i've always found it interesting that even historically there were rumours of hamilton being washington's illegitimate son so i thought to myself: why not explore the idea of this being true? (even tho there is absolutely no historical evidence to support it lmao)
> 
> i've, umm, done quite frankly a ridiculous amount of research for this so far so i hope you enjoy ;')

**11th January, 1768**

_My Dearest Friend,_

_I apologise for my ungraceful language and worse penmanship. I have not found myself capable of letter-writing in weeks and I’m afraid it is a strenuous effort in order to pen this one._

_I write to you, my dear sir, because I am to die. I do not wish for your pity for myself nor your forgiveness for the way things ended between us. I will not make a liar of myself and tell you that refusing your hand was not the greatest regret of my life. It was, my dear George, but I hope you can understand why I did so. My boys will always come first. Even before you, my love._

_Which brings us to my current predicament. I took ill shortly after New Years’ and I am not foolish enough to believe that I will regain my strength. My condition worsens by the day. I am subdued by the knowledge that when I die, I will be leaving my boys penniless and parentless._

_Had I loved you any less, I would not write. I know your heart, my dear, and I know you as a man of great character; one who would go to any lengths required for his family. It is with this knowledge that I tell you that in January of 1757, I bore a son. The arithmetic - as I’m sure you’re working out as you read this - provides the answer. He is the product of our love. Our Alexander._

_He is far too clever already. He is well-versed in many languages and the boy is not often seen without a book in hand. He has grand ambitions that remind me so much of his father - of you, dear sir. He says he one day wishes to become a soldier or a statesman. There are times when I see your stoic image ingrained in him - in spite of him being just a baby. He worries too much and I can tell you firmly that he did not inherit that from me. He turns eleven today._

_I do not expect you to ever forgive me for keeping his existence from you. However, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive him. I must admit that had fate not twisted the course of my life so drastically, I would not have told you. I assume you have found yourself a wife and that you have been blessed with other natural heirs at this point in time. I say this to assure you that my intentions are not to make my son into your beneficiary._

_I know you will treat our son with the same compassion and affection you once bestowed upon me despite knowing how my reputation precedes me. The fact of the matter is that Alexander needs a father and you, my darling, are just that._

_You may be questioning what is to happen with my James, Jr. The answer is that I do not know. Mr. Hamilton disappeared from our lives two years ago and to this date, I have had no contact with him since. For all Alex. and James, Jr. know, they share the same paternal blood. I will tell them the truth before I die but I am afraid it might break their hearts._

_Despite this, it is unfair of me to ask you to raise another man’s son. I pray to God for the answer but I am afraid He has not yet countered my calling. There’s an older cousin by the name of Peter Lytton I have asked to watch over the boys and, in all likelihood, that is where James will remain. He is fourteen now - no longer the babe you knew him as during your time on the island - and has been in talks with a local man about a carpentry apprenticeship once he reaches sixteen. It pains me to speak of separating the boys but there is no other way._

_I pray for your health, my George, and that you will come to Christiansted as soon as possible. I selfishly pray that you will arrive before my demise so that I may see your face one last time._

_Ever your affectionate friend,_

_Rachel Faucette_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it was quite short, but there's the first chapter! next one should be up within the next couple of days but i won't promise anything just in case life gets in the way. however, i am planning on writing shorter chapters (like 1000-2000 words) more frequently rather than longer ones less so i should hopefully be able to keep a pretty consistent schedule.
> 
> ALSO the amount of time i spent reading about 18th century letter etiquette,,,,, LMAO why do i do this (answer: i'm a nerd for historical accuracy and i like treating longer fics as if i'm writing an actual novel despite the fact that it will never be actually published haha LOL,,,,)
> 
> i love reading your comments, they really inspire me :)))


	2. 8th February, 1768

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George receives a letter from one Ms. Faucette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in one day?! i've shocked myself.

**8th February, 1768**

George’s eyes traced carefully over each word, each letter scratched onto the pages of parchment. He had read it countless times already and would continue to read it until he could close his eyes and see the letter in its entirety in his head. He knew it was foolish to hide away from Martha in his office but he couldn’t bear to see her when all that was running through his head was  _ his Rachel  _ and  _ his son.  _

Rachel, the woman he had once loved more than anything in the world, who was now lying on her deathbed. Or worse but George sincerely prayed that wasn’t the case.

Logically, he knew he couldn’t be faulted for abandoning his child considering that his son’s mother had hid his existence. Yet, the guilt was palpable in the pit of his stomach and at the forefront of his mind. He couldn’t help but also feel anger. Rachel must have  _ known _ she was in delicate condition before he had left; before he had sailed off into the distance, cursing himself for not convincing her to come with him the entirety of the three week voyage. They could have come back to Virginia and gotten married. They could have been a family. 

He loved Martha. They were a perfect match in nearly all regards. He loved her children as though they were his own, but love wouldn’t change the fact that he wasn’t their father by blood. Love wouldn’t change the fact that despite their deepest efforts, George and Martha were seemingly destined not to have a child of their own. It had been nine years since they were wed and it was not as though they hadn’t been frequently affectionate in that time. It appeared that George was not meant to father a child with his wife.

“George?” His wife’s sweet voice outside the door somehow made him feel even worse about the ordeal. “May I come in?”

He sighed. It was silly to pretend as though he could keep this discovery to himself and sillier to pretend that he wanted to. “Yes, dear.”

“You’ve kept yourself locked away all morning since you received that letter. Whatever did it say that has you in such a state?” 

George folded the letter and placed it gently in front of him. “I have a son.”

“Oh…” Martha inhaled sharply and nodded. “How old?”

George frowned. The age of the boy was not of importance. 

Until he realised what she was thinking by asking. “He just turned eleven. It wasn’t… It was before.”

Martha looked relieved. “I see. What’s the boy’s name?”

“Alexander,” George said aloud for the first time.  _ Alex.  _ “I have told you about Ms. Faucette and our…” George hesitated, “friendship.”

“Of course.”

“She never told me until now. She’s… she’s dying, Martha.” George looked up to where his wife stood at the end of his desk. 

He summoned her towards him and she sat in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Oh, my darling,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t leave him there. I have to bring him home.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know what explanation we can provide when the time comes for it but I refuse to let someone else raise my boy.”

“It’s unreasonable to believe that there will not be doubt as to the boy’s origins especially-” Martha smiled weakly, “especially if he resembles his father, but I will support you wholeheartedly with whatever you come to decide, George. I hope you know that.”

George pressed the side of his face tightly against her chest. “Thank you. I must arrange for my passage immediately. Do I bring anything for the boy? Clothing or the likes?” George panicked and Martha just shook her head in amusement.

“My dear, I doubt your son is running around bare. I’m sure anything the boy needs you can purchase once you’re acquainted with him.” 

George quirked an eyebrow at his wife. “You’re, in all likelihood, right.”

“I frequently am.” 

George agreed with her. 

He paused thoughtfully. “We will need to tell the children.”

“Shall you or I?”

“Alexander is my son, it is my responsibility to do so.”

“That may be true, George, but you do not have to do so alone.” George sighed. Of course, Martha could see clearly through his stubborn insistence that his battles must be fought by only him.

“Very well then.”

The married couple stood up, George following closely behind his wife. She turned to smile at him.

“It will be nice for Patsy to have a playmate her own age. She’s going to be very excited, you do know.” 

George nodded. “I cannot lie and tell you that I am not bursting with excitement myself.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another very short chapter lol. next one should be up within the next day or two. 
> 
> comment if you want, i love reading and replying to them :)


	3. 19th February, 1768

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It smelt like shit. It smelt like shit and vomit and the coppery smell of blood that was so prominent that Alexander could almost taste it on the tip of his tongue. His mother lay next to him, dripping with sweat._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again! another chapter! took me a bit to write this because i wasn't quite happy with it at first.
> 
> also sorry that the formatting for rachel's lullaby is a bit odd re: the english + french lyrics being included. i would have just put the french for aesthetic's sake, but i felt like the english meaning needed to be absorbed while reading - not after as an endnote. 
> 
> tw: mentions of blood and also rachel and alexander in general being incredibly sick. 
> 
> hope you enjoy the chapter :) and sorry that it's quite short again; the chapters will be getting longer soon.

**19th February, 1768**

It smelt like shit. It smelt like shit and vomit and the coppery smell of blood that was so prominent that Alexander could almost taste it on the tip of his tongue. His mother lay next to him, dripping with sweat. Her hair was shades darker than it usually was due to its dampness. Had Alexander been able to view his own appearance, he would have seen himself looking similarly ailing. 

Alex’s head was heavy against the thin mattress. It was late afternoon and the sun was just beginning to palliate the intense rays beaming through the curtains of the cramped bedroom. The doctor was nowhere to be seen. Alexander’s older brother hid in the small merchant’s shop occupying the downstairs, using the defence that the shop needed running in their mother’s absence as an excuse to avoid facing what was happening just up the flight of narrow stairs. 

Alexander involuntarily whimpered. He had never felt so cold before. His teeth chattered and his body shook. The boy didn’t notice as tears ran down his face. His right arm hung limply over the edge of the bed, the noise of his blood dripping into the awaiting bucket keeping time like a metronome. 

“Alexander,” his name was softly called. “My love,” his mother’s voice faltered. With all the energy he could muster, he opened his eyes. Her pale hand reached out for him. 

She clutched the small boy to her chest.

“ _Maman_ ,” he curled against her the same way he did when he was just a baby. His bloodied arm throbbed against his side. Everything was sore and his head hurt. 

“I have something to tell you, Alex. You need to listen to me carefully, do you understand?”

“ _Oui, Maman._ ”

“Your father - your _real_ father - is coming to the island to bring you home with him. His name is George Washington. He lives in America.”

“America?”

“The colonies, _mon coeur_. He fights in the King’s Army - or he did before, I can’t seem to remember. He’s a good man, _Alexandre._ You’ll be a good boy for him, won’t you?”

Alexander didn’t respond. The room melted around him into fuzzy shapes and waves of dull colours. His head spun. He felt a gentle hand sweep the hair out of his face.

“Answer me, Alexander,” she prompted lightly. 

_“_ I’ll be a good boy, _Maman_ ,” he croaked. 

_“Mon bébé,_ ” her lips were cool against his forehead. “My brilliant boy.”

She began to sing. Her voice was scratchy, not like it was as she sang the familiar refrain to Alexander and James every night as little boys. Her boys.

“ _À la claire fontaine m'en allant promener; J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle que je m'y suis baignée (As I was walking by the clear fountain, I found the water so lovely I had to bathe.)”_ She rocked Alexander back and forth in her arms. “ _Il y a longtemps que je t'aime, jamais je ne t'oublierai (I've loved you for so long, I will never forget you.)_ ”

Alexander hugged his mother tighter as she murmured the lyrics against his temple. “ _Chante, rossignol, chante, toi qui as le cœur gai; Tu as le cœur à rire… moi je l'ai à pleurer (S_ _ing, nightingale, sing, you who has a joyous heart; Your heart is made for laughing... mine can only cry.)_ ” Alexander coughed wretchedly against her. 

“ _J'ai perdu mon ami sans l'avoir mérité; Pour un bouquet de roses que je lui refusai… (_ _I lost my love without deserving it; Because of a bouquet of roses I refused him…)”_ Alexander could feel the wet splashes hit his cheeks and could only wonder why his mother was so sad. Moreso, who was she so sad for?

 _“Il y a longtemps que je t'aime, jamais je ne t'oublierai,”_ Alex’s shaky voice joined her, bumbling slightly as he struggled to form the words. His mouth tasted sour; he needed water. “ _Je voudrais que la rose fût encore au rosier, Et que mon doux ami fût encore à m'aimer. (_ _I wish the rose were still on the bush; And my sweetheart loved me still.)”_

The child’s lullaby had the desired effect and as Rachel gently sung the last refrain - _Il y a longtemps que je t'aime, jamais je ne t'oublierai -_ Alexander’s eyes had shut. 

_I’ve loved you for so long, I will never forget you._ The lyrics danced in his head, the melody drifting off into the distance. 

When Alexander woke up, he was alone in the bed.

His brother, James, stood in the doorway of the room. Tears silently streamed down the fourteen-year-old’s cheeks. He shook his head at his little brother before turning around and leaving the boy. Alexander could hear his clunky footsteps make their way down the wooden staircase.

At that moment, Alexander knew. He knew he truly was alone - not just in the small bedroom - but in the world.

A thousand miles away, George Washington stood at the edge of a great ship. He stared out beyond the water at the nothingness that stretched far across the horizon. The wind whistled against his ears. 

George didn’t know it yet but he, too, was alone. This fact wouldn’t occur to him until many years later. It is sometimes only once something else has been added to a person’s life that they recognize what was missing before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright so a little backstory about the lullaby rachel sings to alex before she dies. it's a traditional french lullaby dating all the way back to 1604 that centers around the story of a woman singing about her love that she lost after failing to give her her "rosebud" (a metaphor for virginity lmao.) it also would serve as a hidden political anthem in quebec as they resisted against the british around the time this chapter is set, with the symbols within the lyrics as an extended metaphor for france and england (foreshadowing for our favourite future revolutionary? it's more likely than you think ;) )
> 
> the song is actually very beautiful and can be found [here on youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tJkJe2zMQng) if you want to give it a listen (which i'd HIGHLY recommend.) this version is what i'd imagine rachel and alex singing it together would sound like :,)
> 
> see ya in the next chapter!! up soon :)


	4. 3rd March, 1768

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rachel had always spoken about St. Croix as though it was a bad taste in her mouth. George knew there was a man there. A marriage left; a son too. The only legitimate boy out of her striplings, George thought bitterly to himself. Oh, how it didn’t have to be that way. George shook the thought out of his head. 'What if' and 'if only' had no use in a man’s mind._
> 
> George arrives on the island.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! hope you enjoy the new chapter :)

**3rd March, 1768**

The heat beat down on the back of George’s neck. The islands were as scorching hot as he remembered them being and suddenly George felt like a fool for not dressing accordingly. His wool jacket was damp and clung to him uncomfortably. George sighed. 

Rachel had always spoken about St. Croix as though it was a bad taste in her mouth. George knew there was a man there. A marriage left; a son too. The only legitimate boy out of her striplings, George thought bitterly to himself. Oh, how it didn’t have to be that way. George shook the thought out of his head. _What if_ and _if only_ had no use in a man’s mind. 

The fact of the matter was that George was under the impression that Rachel’s vow not to return to St. Croix - _the place where evil lives under the pseudonym of Lavien -_ was substantial. That said, it came as a relief that Rachel had uprooted the boys from the island of Nevis. It was selfish, George knew, but it would have hurt too much to return to the birthplace of their relationship and their boy. 

The crowded streets that George had aimlessly wandered. The beach where they had first met and, weeks later, where he had finally given into the bubbly feeling in his stomach and kissed her. The port where he begged her to come home with him. The bedroom where they had made love. Where they had _conceived his son_ , George reminded himself. 

No, it was much better that Nevis existed only in his memory. Even if the familiar feeling of the St. Croix was eerie. As if he had _almost_ been there before, but not quite. He imagined Rachel walking along the cobble roads, two little boys holding a hand each. Alexander, no more than four, toddling along clumsily as he tried to keep up with his brother while Rachel talked with merchants. George looked out at the ocean and saw the boys swimming and splashing each other; Rachel half-heartedly scolding them and then laughing in shock when a cheeky spray of water hit herself.

He had missed so much. 

George retrieved the well-worn letter from his waistcoat. He read over the words slowly one more time, absorbing each and every one as if it were sacred. It gave him both a rush of confidence and anxiety. Yes, he was welcomed and expected. Yes, he was scared shitless. 

The address was scribed neatly at the bottom of the letter. It was an invitation but also a plea. George looked up at the building in front of him and tucked the letter away. There was no time for hesitation. He pushed open the door to the mercantile. The shelves were nearly bare before him. He frowned, eyes scanning around before finding an older man hunched over a bound book. He had small-ish eyeglasses that sat delicately near the end of his nose and a furrowed brow as his quill jumped across the margins of the book.

He stepped towards the man, clearing his throat. George could tell the man knew he was summoning his attention but chose to ignore him anyway. 

“I beg your pardon,” George began, “but would you happen to know where I could find a Miss Faucette?” The man was silent and so George revised his askance. “Perhaps a Mrs. Hamilton?” 

The older man snorted. “Not anymore, kid.”

George was not a fool. He knew what the man meant and he would be kidding himself to say that the answer wasn’t expected. However, this didn’t make the news hurt any less. The air was knocked out of his lungs as though he’d been punched in the gut. All he could do was jerkily nod. The letter burnt against him in his pocket.

“She’s cold in the ground. Her son got her inheritance if that’s what you’ve come after,” the man sneered.

“Her son?”

“The Lavien kid. Peter, I think his name was.”

 _Of course_. “Where are her other boys?”

“Poor things,” the man gave George a look of pity. “The older one was distraught with his mother and baby brother ill.”

George’s blood ran cold. Not Alexander. “Did…” George braced himself, “did the youngest make it?”

The man raised an eyebrow at him, only now deciding to question George’s intent with his many questions. “What’s it to you? You aren’t from around here, I am certain of that, sir.”

“I’ve come to take Alexander home with me. It was his mother’s wishes.” 

“What of _your_ wishes, sir?”

The question was intended to make him fumble, George knew that. Instead, he looked the man straight in the eye, refusing to give him what he wanted. “I wish to raise my son, good sir.”

George was not overly concerned about his reputation being disgraced at the hands of this man and it wasn’t as though anyone knew his identity. Thus, he wore the title of the boy’s father with pride. If anything Rachel had told him about the child was right, he had good reason to do so.

“Very well then. I shall not involve myself in you and that _whore’s_ affairs any longer, sir.”

“I beg your pardon?” George’s voice boomed, the militant commander in him coming out stronger than was strictly required in order to get his point across. 

The man only stuck up his chin. “Do you wish for me to give you your bastard’s address or not?”

George bit his tongue. The man ripped off a page of parchment from the back of the ledger book he was using before their conversation. He scribbled down the address in scratchy penmanship.

“Now, get out.”

George obliged. He was fuming, of course, but in the interest of seeing Rachel’s boys as soon as possible he contained himself. 

Peter Lytton’s house was about a ten minute walk away from the street Rachel’s former residence was. George made it to Mr. Lytton’s front door in five. 

He knocked and waited for a response. He could hear talking coming from inside. It sounded harsh and George frowned. With his luck, he looked his sternest right as a boy opened the door to spot George standing there. He stepped back in surprise, looking somewhat intimidated by the older man.

“Good afternoon,” George began. “You’re James Hamilton Junior.”

He hadn't meant for this to come across as so blunt but he couldn't help it. Despite the boy having been just three years old the last time he’d seen him, George could recognize him in an instant. What he really recognized was Rachel’s eyes and slim nose on the boy’s face.

The boy nodded hesitantly. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m an old friend of your mother’s. I’m not sure you’d remember me; when we last met you were very small.”

“I’m afraid I do not,” the boy frowned. 

“That’s quite alright,” George cleared his throat awkwardly. James still hadn’t invited him in. “I-is your brother home?”

“Why?” His tone turned defensive.

“My name is George Washington and I’m his father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! the next one will be up within a few days. 
> 
> next chapter: george will finally meet alex, but it won't quite live up to his expectations. 
> 
> i love reading your comments :))


	5. 3rd-4th March, 1768

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Alexander will be willing and pleased to accompany you, Colonel Washington.”
> 
> Alexander snorted under his breath, murmuring something along the lines of _not a chance._ Mr. Lytton pinched the boy under his arm and Alexander stifled a yelp, shooting an embarrassed glance in George’s direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! sorry for the big delay, some life stuff came up that i'll briefly mention in the end note. thank you for all the support on this story while i was gone, it means a lot.
> 
> hope you enjoy this chapter :)

The air of the room was thick with anticipation as Peter Lytton read the letter handed to him by his nephew’s supposed father. It was, indeed, the man Rachel had told him about before she met her end. 

Peter had paid a visit just a few days before her demise. She lay there in bed with Alexander, the poor thing, limply clutched to her chest. At first, Peter had feared the worst; the boy was so still. It was unlike him to be so quiet. Rachel had beckoned him closer. 

_ Peter _ , she had whispered so to not wake the boy.  _ I must tell you about Alexander’s father. _

It didn’t shock him particularly; the boys were already well-known as bastards so one having a different father from the other didn’t seem out of the question. He had half-heartedly promised that should Alexander’s mysterious military father return for his son, Peter would be there to validate Rachel’s story. Whether it was the father or the son who needed the validation was unclear. He couldn’t help but be slightly surprised that the man had actually come to collect young Alexander. It was far more common for men of his father’s standing to simply send money to their former mistresses to keep mouths fed and quiet. Empty promises were readily available on the islands. So, yes, Peter was a little shocked at the appearance of a man - Colonel Washington, he had introduced himself as - sitting for tea in his home who told him that he was from the colonies and, from the way he was dressed and conducted himself, came from money. 

Alexander would be able to have an education, the type of education a boy as bright as him deserved to, should he accompany the man. Not to mention that, despite Peter’s sympathy for the boy, the fact of the matter was that adding two more places at his dinner table was a financial burden Peter’s ledger could not handle. He scratched his head and sighed, returning the letter back to its owner.

“How come I get no say in this? Is it not my livelihood that is being discussed?”

“Alexander,” Peter snapped. “Do not be impertinent.”

“It’s quite alright, Mr. Lytton. His hesitance is to be expected; after all, I am no more than a stranger to him. I understand that it may take time to change that but,” George looked at his son, “I would like to follow through with your mother’s wishes.”

George was tactical in his approach with Alexander; it was senseless to appeal to him with flattery or similar trifles but pride and honour were virtues that he could plainly see the boy valued. Even if Alexander would be openly displeased by it, he was not going to go against his mother’s desires for him. It reminded George of his own relationship with Rachel, how even when they heatedly disagreed he knew he would never impede her will. Looking back, he wished he sometimes had.

Alexander pursed his lips. He looked George up and down in a way that made the man feel terrifyingly vulnerable. It reminded him of the way his mother used to look at him when he was a small boy, taking in his appearance to mark his flaws before methodically pointing them out for correction. Alexander said nothing out loud; George wondered what was on the list of his flaws in the boy’s mind. 

“I suppose that,” Alexander frowned deeply, “it is only right of me to accept that. Do not think, sir, this means I find you agreeable.” __

George sighed. It was a start, he supposed. “Of course not, son.”

“I’m not your son,” Alexander jumped even further away from him. His wide eyes looked at George with an expression somewhere between anger and fear. It was not a very pleasant expression to witness one’s son as having.

_ Rachel, I’ve come for him. Good Lord, what do I do now? _

“Mr. Lytton, I believe the earliest passage I could book for two would leave Christiansted in about one month’s time.” 

That was a lie, of course, it wouldn’t be terribly hard to find tickets before then but George could foresee him needing the extra time for Alexander to trust him before uprooting him. If the slight narrowing of Peter Lytton’s eyes indicated that he was aware of George’s misinformation, he did not say anything. 

Given how pale the boy was and the knowledge that he had been terribly ill just mere weeks before, George had figured it also would give Alexander a fighting chance to regain his strength. His morbid mind plagued him with the image of a weakened Alexander perishing away as the waves rocked their tiny cabin relentlessly. He would not have the vision become reality. 

“Alexander will be willing and pleased to accompany you, Colonel Washington.”

Alexander snorted under his breath, murmuring something along the lines of  _ not a chance.  _ Mr. Lytton pinched the boy under his arm and Alexander stifled a yelp, shooting an embarrassed glance in George’s direction. 

“If you find it agreeable, sir, I will return tomorrow,” George shook hands with his son’s cousin who nodded at him. 

“May I ask that you come in the morning? Alexander has work to do in the afternoon.” Out of the corner of his eye, George could see Alexander scowl.

“Very well.”

George hardly slept that night. He didn’t toss or turn. He stared up at the ceiling of the small room he had paid for. In their short time speaking George could easily see that Alexander was, without a doubt, a brilliant boy. He looked far too much like Rachel; perhaps that was why George felt so deeply for him already. Other men might see a child in their late lover’s likeliness as a painful reminder of what was lost and what was - sometimes reluctantly - gained and begin to resent them for it. George saw Alexander as a piece of her to live on, making the boy’s life all the more precious. 

That said, Rachel’s death was all the more painful when he had actually met the boys left behind. Had George received an unexpected letter from the islands informing him of his old flame’s passing it would have stung, yes, but his life would have remained unchanged. Of course, that is not how things happened. George would never be the same and neither would Alexander. The boy had lost his mother, gained a man who called himself his father, and would soon be leaving his brother to move thousands of miles across open water to live in an estate he would one day inherit.

Well, George would have to sort out the legalities first but the boy would be his heir one day. George sat up slowly, fumbling around through the stack of papers on his bedside table. George felt a twinge of guilt as he recognized that the majority of the change in Alexander’s life was his own fault. He wouldn’t dwell on it, as he logically knew that the circumstances leading up to George’s hand in these life changes were left only to fate. Now if only he could find a quill and his ink-pot. He would leave himself a reminder to pen a correspondence to Jefferson, whose legal expertise may be of use.

When George looked up from the mess in front of him, he was greeted by the morning sun beaming above the water. The sky was a concoction of warm hues. George’s breath hitched in his throat. It was time to meet with his son. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so um basically within the past month and a half i've been dealing with the death of a family member, the death of a friend, and then i started university (which has made me incredibly busy, as one can imagine.) 
> 
> i don't think i'm in a place to make promises about my upload schedule, so if that's one of the reasons why you like(d) me as an author, i'm really sorry. just know that if you subscribe, there will eventually be more updates, and i will finish this story (and have some more stuff coming.) i just don't know when that'll be.
> 
> hope to be back for chapter 6 as soon as i can, and thank you for reading in the meantime!!


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